


so for once in my life, let me get what i want (lord knows it would be the first time)

by siDEADde



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Meet-Cute, because really no one needs to be cuddled more than Lena, eventual cuddling, sooooo much cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siDEADde/pseuds/siDEADde
Summary: “What!?” Lena mustered up her best indignant glare and debated stomping her foot. She was Lena Fucking Luthor and she could handle this.  It’s a dog. Some hair on her sofa, a few toys under foot, maybe a surprise puddle on the floor. “What’s there to ruin?”orLena Luthor: CEO of a Fortune 500 company but literal human disaster.She's got it all under control though.Accidently create an alter-ego ✔️Keep this alter-ego a secret from everyone ✔️Regret existing because this alter-ego shit is exhausting ✔️orThe dog park meet-cute
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 87
Kudos: 228





	1. the P word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shallow_seas_we_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shallow_seas_we_sail/gifts).



> What happens when you Peter-Griffin-down-the-stairs into a new fandom?
> 
> You drag as many people as you can with you.  
> For my buddy Ren who is still falling with me, and cursing me on the way down.
> 
> This one's for you.  
> ♥

“Why did I volunteer to do this?”

Lena puffs a breath of air upwards, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, cheeks aflame with exertion. She balances on one foot, trying to tug her sneaker onto the other while holding the leash of Sam and Ruby’s exuberant puppy. Dog. Young dog? Old puppy? Sam told her the rescue wasn’t sure how old the dog was, but she was at least a year and under five. At what age were dogs not considered puppies anymore? Lena is discovering that while she’s knowledgeable about quantum entanglement, she doesn’t know  _ shit _ about dogs.

The fact that they’ve even gotten to this point with no one injured is impressive. Twenty minutes ago, Lena thought she’d have to call Sam home from her trip back to Metropolis and explain that despite her multiple degrees, CEO status of a Fortune 500 corporation, and genius intellect, she’s incapable of taking care of an animal.

She can’t say Sam hadn’t warned her. 

“Don’t say the ‘p’ word where she can hear you, ok, Lena?” Her friend was providing offhand instructions while she unloaded the suitcase of dog supplies.  _ The dog has her own suitcase? _

Lena’d just looked at her blankly, still contemplating the metric fuck-tonne of stuff being piled in her livingroom, until Ruby rolled her eyes. “The ‘p’ word. P-A-R-K.”

“I can’t say pa-” She’d stumbled back, eyes wide, as both Ruby and Sam lunged toward her looking to clap their hands over her mouth. “What if I’m talking about the car?”

“No, Lena.” Sam had sighed and had it been about anything else, Lena would have taken offense at the patronizing tone. As it were, she’d started to think that perhaps dogsitting  _ was _ far enough out of her wheelhouse that maybe she should tell Sam that a kennel might work better. Then, she realized Sam hadn’t stopped talking.

“Context is irrelevant. She’s a dog. She only understands that P-A-R-K means she gets to run around without her L-E-A-S-H on. Do NOT say either word out loud while you're in the house with her. Not if you value your belongings.” Sam had looked around Lena’s penthouse, her lip caught between her teeth in concern. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea…”

“What!?” Lena mustered up her best indignant glare and debated stomping her foot. She was Lena Fucking Luthor and she could handle this. It’s a dog. Some hair on her sofa, a few toys under foot, maybe a surprise puddle on the floor. “What’s there to ruin?”

Sam had shaken her head in an all too knowing way and her wry smile had had too many teeth. “Oh honey, just please trust us. And keep your bedroom door closed. Expensive shoes must taste better than cheap ones. She passed up a pair of Ruby’s shell toes to chew apart my favorite Blahniks.”

Lena had looked at them both in horror before rushing to close all the doors in the hall. Her shoe collection spanned multiple closets, and while she could easily afford a chewed pair of heels, better to be safe than sorry. Sam’s smile only grew more smug.

Then, after another briefing that rivaled one of her L-Corp stockholders' meetings, Sam and Ruby left Lola, a sweet, brindle and white-flashed pitbull, in her not-so-capable hands.

Everything had started out fine. Lena found she quite enjoyed how the dog’s raised ears and cocked head made it seem like she was listening to the running commentary Lena rattled out while she straightened up the penthouse. She’d also followed Lena from room to room, a snuffling shadow, her soft brown eyes and expressive eyebrows calm and curious. Lena realizes now that she’d been lulled into a false sense of security and that she should have just kept that stream of consciousness in her head. 

“I think, after we clean up here and have a snack we should go out.” She’d pulled her bedroom door shut absentmindedly as she listed off her plans for the day, so caught up in her narration that she forgot Sam’s warning. It was so nice to have someone that listened because they wanted to, not because they were on her payroll or afraid of her. “We can get a frozen yogurt on the way to the park-”

Famous last words. 

Lola had zoomed around her penthouse in her joy at hearing the “p” word. Sixty pounds of rocketing muscle, Lena’s standing lamp and decorative vase never knew what hit them. The vase exploded in shards, and Lena, so worried that the dog would get them embedded in her feet, had emptied an entire bag of treats on the floor in the kitchen to distract her while she swept up the dangerous mess. It was a race to see who could clear the floor first. Luckily, Lena Luthor never loses.

Now, she's a collapsed heap wrapped in fifteen feet of Flexi leash, trying to tie her shoes as Lola wiggles and whines around her, pretty much the definition of defeated by hubris. 

So much for never losing.

“Oh this was a mistake I think.” She groans, twisting and turning the arm that holds the leash in an effort to extract herself from the taut nylon webbing. “Lola, sit!” 

The dog barely acknowledges she spoke, much less heeds her request. Lena blames her indifference on the fact that Lena’s in sneakers and jeans with a face completely devoid of make-up, the hair that spills from her loose pony hanging in wisps and tendrils around her face and in her eyes. Without her CEO armor, she’s so obviously a bottom that even the dog can tell. She tips her head back and screams to the ceiling.

“Come on Luthor, get it together.” She mutters, dropping the retractable handle to let it zip around her, spooling the leash and freeing her bound form. She pops to her feet, thankful for the first time in her life that she actually attends that yoga class Jess had enrolled her in. R&D Lena from two years ago would never have been able to get up off the floor without rolling to her hands and knees and levering herself up using the couch. 

“Ok, ok. Let’s go.” She snags her bag from the kitchen island (after she spent a good 30 minutes agonizing over taking the Birkin or the Toolbox 26, both labeled "utility" bags by Hermès; the Toolbox won out) and confirms for the twenty-fifth time that there are four bottles of water, a collapsible bowl, a Gladware container of dog food, the other bag of treats, a roll of biodegradable poo bags, hand sanitizer, and a pack of wet-wipes. Leash in hand, excited dog pulling her to the elevator, and $8,ooo bag crammed with supplies, Lena is ready for anything...

She’s always been good at putting on a good front.

s§s

‘ _ Up my yoga class to 3 times a week & add something aerobic the other 2 days, please and thank you’ _

She is breathless. Out of breath. Who’s she kidding, she’s gasping for air like someone who’s actively drowning. Definitely nothing as graceful as breathless. She leans forward, one hand on her knee, the other firing off the text to her assistant. No 26 year old should be rendered incapacitated by a singular -meaning one- block sprint. She can’t tell if the heat in her cheeks is due to exertion or embarrassment. Both. Yes, it’s probably both.

Lola tears around the fenced enclosure, huge pittie grin on her face, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. As Lena Lamaze-pants her way back to standing, fingers pressing into the stitch in her side, she watches as the dog takes to chasing anything that moves: a blowing leaf, a jumping child, a yellow dog playing fetch. If she’s lucky, this will wear the animal out enough that Lena will be able to have a glass of wine while she reads tonight. Her phone buzzes in her hand and she pulls her eyes away for just a minute to read Jess’s confirmation of her request. The sudden shouting draws her attention back up and her cheeks immediately flame.

“Hey! Hey buddy! Hey good boy! Can you bring that back please? Come here, that’s it, give it here, come on! Oh  _ nonono _ , over here!”

The shouting is coming from the most beautiful woman Lena has ever seen, chasing after a frolicking Lola who has a blue Chuckit!™ stick clamped firmly in her slobbery jaws. The dog looks over her shoulder and slows enough for the woman to  _ almost _ grab the stick before she breaks into an easy lope, dancing out of reach.  _ Oh my god, can something please go right today? _

She contemplates running over and wresting the toy from the dog and then reminds herself that she  _ still _ has a cramp from the mad scramble that was their arrival and that, for some reason that she doesn’t want to analyze right now, she really doesn’t want this woman to notice how out of shape she is, how dressed down she is, or how, without make-up, her pale features all kind of blend in with one another leaving her looking like a set of eyebrows on a volleyball wearing a black wig.

She’s going to have to do something though, because Lola isn’t giving up the Chuckit!™ any time soon. The dog is clearly having the time of her life, swept up in this keep-away game of her own devising. Lena understands now that this animal is obviously brilliant, even without the letters behind her name to back it up. Why didn’t  _ she _ ever think to just snatch something from a pretty girl and then run away, throwing gleeful glances from come-hither eyes over her own shoulder? 

_ It’s no wonder why you’re still single. _

“Hi, um hey. Is that your dog?” 

Lena snaps her eyes up to meet clear blue, brighter than the sky above them. The woman is pushing blond fly-away curls out of her eyes, and the sheepish smile on her face is so disarming that Lena can only stare, open-mouthed in what is undoubtedly an uncanny goldfish impression. The woman’s eyebrows draw together in consternation and she studies Lena’s face.

“Oh, maybe that’s your service dog. Do you read lips?” Blue eyes light up and Lena watches in mounting horror as the other woman places her finger near her ear and draws it forward to her mouth, her eyebrows raised in question, then places her fist, thumb up, on her flattened palm and brings it up to her face. “Are you deaf, do you need help?”

Lena wants to drop dead here in the middle of the dog park.

There was nothing on the Rules & Regulations of the Park board that forbade it, so she’s going to take advantage of their oversight. Lena Luthor, voted Fortune’s Most Powerful Woman in Business, eking out the number 1 spot from that bitch, Julia Sweet,  _ should _ be able to will herself into cardiac arrest, right? Save herself from boundless humiliation by myocardial infarction? If she succeeds, she might deign it her chef d’oeuvre over the reimaging of L-Corp, because really, that top designation should come with some power to save her from her awkwardness. It’s certainly the only way that word will ever be associated with her, anyway.

She screws her eyes shut and gives it her best effort, but her traitor heart just keeps stuttering along, and when she cracks open her eyes, the blond goddess is still standing in front her, perplexed but smiling gently. She sighs, tipping her head back to stare into the sun for a moment, because maybe blinding herself would justify this woman’s concern, or at least why she didn’t respond to her signing in an appropriate manner.

“No...”

The word hangs between them and Lena realizes that the time she has taken to respond makes it impossible to determine what she’s actually refuting. The blond’s brow furrows, but the smile stays and gets impossibly more gentle, like Lena is a lost toddler or that coyote stuck in the Chicago Quiznos.

“So you’re not deaf, then?” The woman signs again as she says this, so Lena tries again to stop her heart. Futile.

“No…”

The furrow deepens and for a brief moment, Lena contemplates reaching out and running her thumb over the lines to smooth them out. Lillian’s distasteful sniff and imperious voice echoes in her head, ‘ _ You’re impossible, Lena. Always scowling. You’ll give yourself premature wrinkles; though with the way you hide away in that lab, it doesn’t much matter.’ _ Ironically enough, she said something similar when Lena would scrunch her face into a smile, so she quickly stopped doing either.

“Um, do you speak English?” 

This woman is so perfectly kind and caring and Lena is a walking disaster. She  _ cannot fucking believe _ herself right now. She is standing mute and gaping at a beautiful stranger who is so sweetly conscientious that she’s trying everything she can to make sure Lena can understand and be understood.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Oui, si, hai, da, shì. I do, and several other languages as well, if you’d prefer?” Lena straightens her spine and does her best to slip into her CEO persona. Obviously she’s a method actor, because without her costume, she’s struggling to get into the role.

Relief floods the blond’s face, smoothing her features before her eyes crinkle in a radiant smile. What the sun couldn’t do, this woman’s grin does, and Lena gasps because for a moment she is blind to everything else.

“No, English is fine. I dabble in a couple of others, but only at the threat of that scary green owl.” Lena must look like she has no idea what the other woman is talking about, (which checks out --she doesn’t) because the blond’s face falls a little, like she’d hoped to make a connection but Lena missed the call. Her playful smile returns. “You must not use Duolingo.” 

Lena tries to adjust her features more appropriately, maybe to convince the blond that she is indeed a human, but the amalgamation of those two particular latin words doesn’t ring a bell, so she’s not sure what kind of expression she should have. A flurry of activity pulls her from her thoughts as the woman pulls her phone from her pocket and thumbs through screens. Lena braces herself -for what, she doesn’t know, but it seems serious, if the blond’s chewing on her lower lip is any indication. Maybe she should get her phone out too?

“Here, this!” The phone is thrust in her face, and there is definitely a green owl on the screen. Lena nods politely at the innocuous cartoon strigiformes, then looks back up at the blond as she tries to explain some internet joke. When she sees that Lena still isn’t following, she offers up another sheepish smile and a shrug.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Lena jumps when the woman throws her hands up suddenly, then taps her upper arm. “Is that your dog?”

She’s turned around and is pointing at Lola who has been, for the duration of their awkward interaction, destroying the Chuckit!™ stick. The yellow dog rolls on its back nearby, unperturbed by Lola’s destruction. Lena drops her face into her hands and groans. “No.”

Lena splits her fingers and peeks through them to see the other woman peering at her quizzically. “That’s not your dog? - I mean, I could be wrong, but I swear I saw him pull you in here.”

“Oh. Yes. I brought her here, but she’s not my dog. I’m dogsitting this weekend for a friend.” Her reply tapers off into a whisper. “I’m not doing a very good job so far.” 

She just wants to crawl back into bed where she can use her exorbitant thread-count sheets, down duvet, and mountain of Boll & Branch pillows to drown Lillian out of her head. Right now, all she can hear is her mother telling her how bad of an idea this whole fiasco was; how Lena can barely take care of herself much less another living creature. How she knew Lena wouldn’t get it right. ‘ _ I told you, Lena. Even your best efforts are subpar. _ She closes her fingers, feeling the familiar tightness in her chest when she draws a shuddering breath.  _ Oh please, not here. Not now. _

She startles at the hesitant touch to her shoulder. “Hey, did you remember to feed her?”

_ What an odd question. _ Lena slides her hands down from her face and twists them together, but she doesn’t raise her eyes. “Sam said not to feed her until this evening, but she did have a bag of treats while I cleaned up a vase she broke.”

“Were they dog treats?” 

Lena brings her eyes up this time, confused, her breath starting to come in quick pants. This woman must think she’s a fool, and she doesn’t know why that hurts her, but it does. “Yes. Sam brought two bags of treats. I used the one to distract her. I have the other package here-” Her hands are trembling as she goes to dig into the bag that, thankfully, is still hanging from her shoulder, when they’re covered by the blond’s.

“Oh don’t get those out here. You’ll get mobbed.” Even though the woman offers another sunny smile to take away any unintended bite from her words, Lena’s chest seizes up and she knows the panic is all over her face when the blond’s eyes cloud with worry. “Are you ok?”

Lena shakes her head as her vision starts to pinpoint. “I need to sit down please.” Her therapist’s voice is doing its best to top Lillian’s in her head. ‘ _ RSD, Lena, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. With a mother like Lillian, it’s no surprise both you and your brother present classic symptoms. High-anger for Alexander, and high-anxiety for you. Being aware of the condition might help you control your reactions.’ _

The other woman doesn't hesitate. She slips her arm under Lena's just as her knees give out and gently lowers her to the grass. "Whoopsy daisy, there you go! I'm going to sit right next to you with my hand on your back if that's ok. Deep breath in, sweetie, and try to hold it for five, four, three, two, one, great job! Let's do that again…"

Lena slowly gets control over her breathing enough to notice that the blond is rubbing gentle patterns on her back with one hand while Lena has the other clutched in a death grip. The woman’s earlier coaching has devolved into a running commentary about anything that comes to her head: her dog’s name is Krypto because she’s a comic book geek, she’s the assistant to a media mogul, she likes Chinese food and pizza, but not with pineapple, because she’s no heathen. 

“Oh you look like you’re back now. Do you want me to stop touching you?”

The words won’t come yet, so she just squeezes the hand clasped between her own and shakes her head. She tips her forehead down onto her raised knees and focuses on the fingers moving in dips and swirls down her spine and across the wings of her scapulae.

“Ok, I can do that. Would you like me to keep talking, too? My sister has panic attacks sometimes, but she gets really irritated with me talking, because when I’m worried or nervous I tend to run at the mouth a bit. I  _ can _ be quiet though, because this isn’t about me. It’s about what will make you feel better and if me just sitting here quietly will help you feel better, I can definitely do that. It’s easy to be quiet at the park because there’s so much to look at-”

Despite the situation, Lena laughs, though it comes out sounding more like a choked whine. Then the hand on her back stills and Lena frowns into her lap. How unlike her to take comfort in someone else’s closeness, to miss someone else’s touch. Usually the panic silences her mother’s voice, but Lillian is still niggling in the back of her mind reminding her that this is a weakness; her desire for comfort and companionship, a critical character flaw.  _ ‘Luthors are  _ **_needed_ ** _ , Lena, they aren’t needy.’ _

She clears her throat, tips her head to the side facing the blond, and manages to croak out. “You can keep talking. It doesn’t irritate me.”  _ I’ll take your words over my mother’s anyday.  _ Lena also isn’t ready to relinquish the woman’s hand; thank goodness she doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and Lena does her best to return the gesture, but she knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. The hand caught between her own squeezes gently and the other on her back resumes its swirling as the blond begins to wax poetic about donuts. Lena closes her eyes and lets the words surround her, just breathing. 

She doesn’t know how long they sit on the grass in the middle of the park, only that she has slowly unfurled her arms and legs, and the two of them now sit side by side. They are no longer touching, but Lena is still soothed by her proximity and easy chatter. She’s watching Lola and Krypto wrestle and play when the blond’s phone rings, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Hey Alex, what’s up? Sure thing, let me just drop the dog at home and meet you there.”

_ Alex. She has a boyfriend. _ She doesn’t know why her stomach sinks in disappointment or why their nearness feels wrong now. Lena reminds herself that they’re not friends, or even acquaintances for that matter; that this sudden despondency is simply Nightingale effect and she’s so touch-starved and hungry for affection that she’ll cling to anyone willing to give it to her. 

_ “You’re emotionally stunted, Lena. You just take and take and take and give nothing in return, like some human black hole . I can’t do this anymore.” _ Veronica’s words join her mother’s, but in the same pitch and tone that they were thrown at her three years ago. She remembers standing against the bedroom door frame in shocked silence as Veronica had torn the apartment apart throwing all her belongings into a suitcase. “ _ Nothing to say then? Why am I not surprised?”  _ When she’d slammed the door behind her, Lena had collapsed and cried for four days. When she could breathe again, she told her mother she needed a change, then moved to the National City branch of LuthorCorp to work in the R&D lab.  _ To hide in the R&D lab is more like it. _

“Are you going to be ok? Do you want me to call a Lyft? I have to run, minor emergency, but don’t worry, no one is hurt.”

Scrambling up from the ground, Lena nods, brow furrowed. She tries to act as nonchalant about the whole  episode as the other woman. Like she breaks down in public every day and lets random strangers comfort her; that this is just par for the course, just everyday with Lena. 

“Um ok. Thank you for-” She gestures helplessly around and is again gifted with that radiant smile. “-taking care of my mess-me. And for letting my dog chew up your dog’s toy. Actually…” She digs in her bag for her wallet, and upon opening it, realizes she has nothing smaller than a $50. She pulls it out and quickly folds it in her hand to hide the amount. “Let me buy Krypto another ball-throwing stick. Consider it a gift from Lola.” 

It’s the most she’s spoken since meeting this woman, whose smile only grows brighter with every word. “You know, I was trying to distract you with those questions at the beginning. You were looking kinda peaky and I thought maybe, if I could irritate you, you’d focus on me and not the panic. It works for my sister.” She shrugs, “I really didn’t think you would have forgotten to feed the dog, or give her non-dog treats. You’re obviously smarter than that.”

Warmth blooms in Lena’s chest at the earnestness of her words .  _ She doesn’t think you’re an idiot. _ Compelled by that million dollar smile and overwhelming relief, she steps forward and takes the blond’s hand and presses the folded bill in her palm folding her fingers over it. “Don’t forget, it’s for Krypto. Lola really enjoyed his company.” She offers up a smile of her own, a real one fueled by the fluttering in her chest, and the other woman blushes and ducks her head.

“Ok, for Krypto.”

The blond whistles for the yellow dog and jogs to the double-gated exit. Once outside, she turns and waves, brilliant smile visible even from across the park. Hesitantly, Lena raises her hand in response. She doesn’t realize until she is in bed that night, Lola curled in a snoring heap behind her knees, that she didn’t even get her name.

s§s

  
  


Things settle down and the rest of the weekend passes without a hitch.

Lena spends the two days talking to the dog and thinking about the woman from the park. How do you clutch at someone’s hand for an indeterminate amount of time, yet not ask their name? She practically passed out in the woman’s arms, she knows that the blond will take a strawberry frosted over a cronut (who the hell does that?), and that despite her distaste for a Hawaiin pizza, she’ll eat around the pineapple rather than have no pizza at all. ‘ _ Because the parts that touched the pineapple still  _ **_taste_ ** _ like pineapple, that’s why you can’t just pick it off. Duh!’ _

But her name...still a mystery. 

“You’re going home today, Lola, and I think I’m going to miss having someone to talk to.” Lena moves from room to room with her shadow, collecting stray toys as she opens the blinds to let in the sunlight. “My ficus isn’t nearly as responsive as you are.”

Lola snorts in what Lena interprets as a reply.

Wes phones her from the lobby to let her know that Sam and Ruby are on their way up. At the ping of the elevator and Ruby’s unrestrained laughter in the hall, Lola’s ears perk up and Lena suddenly feels bereft. The dog whines and bounces at the door and when Sam swings it open, loudly calling out, “Honey, we’re home” the whines become excited cries and Ruby drops to her knees to hug the wriggling pup.

“Shh, Sam, my god, always so loud.” Lena acts scandalized, but can’t keep the corners of her mouth from twitching.

“Oh get fucked, Luthor. You’re the only person on this floor.” Sam replies without missing a beat.

“And I own the building.”

“ _And_ _I own the building.”_ Sam mimics her retort with nasal WASP-y affect, “you pretentious bitch.” She breezes past Lena into the kitchen and leans down to look in her wine cooler. “What do you have in here for mama? That flight was a bear, I thought they were going to delay it. Weather in Metropolis was Gotham-y.”

Lena grins as she moves to an upper cabinet and grabs two glasses, setting them on the kitchen island next to where Sam is rifling through a drawer for the rabbit. She misses the easiness of being around Sam, her crass teasing and straightforward manner has always put Lena at ease. “It’s in the drawer on your right. I know it’s been a whole two days, but I haven’t changed that much.”

“Speaking of things that haven’t changed much, Lillian sends her regards.” Sam cocks an eyebrow at her as she smoothly uncorks the wine and pours a hefty amount in each glass. She grabs one for herself and hands the other off to Lena, kicking off her heels and moving to perch on the back of the sofa. “She seemed disappointed that you didn’t come with us.”

Lena rolls her eyes and takes a sip of light, crisp pinot. “Oh I’m sure she was. Gravely. She had no one to torment. However, I promised my therapist that I wouldn’t go back to Metropolis without putting the two others in her practice on retainer.” The second sip she lets wash over her tongue, savoring the fruity, herbal bouquet. “My therapist needed a therapist after my last stint back home. It’s somewhat empowering to know that while she can’t make me better, I can make us both worse.”

Sam snorts, but her eyes are serious and they bore into Lena’s. “You’ve got something on your mind, and, I mean, now it’s probably Lillian since I brought her up like an idiot. But before, you had this face.” Sam circles her wine glass around her own face while frowning in an eerie impression of Lena. “I could hear you thinking from all the way over here. So spill.” 

Before Lena can open her mouth to refuse, Sam holds up a finger, and calls over her shoulder. “Ruby, we’re going to sleep over tonight. Grab Lola and your bag, go brush your teeth and tuck in.”

“Moooooom, we’ll have to get up extra early tomorrow for school.” Ruby grumbles, hefting her backpack onto her shoulder and snapping for the dog. “And I wanted to sleep in my bed.”

“Rude, Ruby. I’ll have you know that Auntie Lena spent way more on the sheets in that guest bedroom than I did on your whole mattress.” Sam sticks her tongue out at her daughter as she passes and swats her ass. “You’re as much of a spoiled brat as your Auntie.”

“Not spoiled, we just know what we like.” Lena winks at the girl and sotto voce calls down the hall, “we’ll go for breakfast tomorrow, Ru, ok? You can order whatever you want.” Behind her back, Lena brings her fingers together in a motion that indicates that Sam should keep her mouth shut. “And your mom can’t say no, even if it’s black coffee and birthday cake.”

The girl smirks at her mother from the guest room doorway, blowing a kiss to Lena who pretends to catch it and pat it gently against her cheek. It’s a routine they’ve had since Ruby was a toddler and it never fails to warm her heart that she still remembers to do it.

“You both are impossible. You spoil her, Lena. I can’t even imagine how bad the dog will be when we get her home.” Sam gets up from the back of the couch and moves to sit properly on the seat. She pats the spot next to her, but Lena demurs, choosing instead to half-sit on one of the stools by the island. Sam’s gaze sharpens at the refusal. “So, tell me why you’re so  _ off _ this evening.”

Lena desperately wants to tell Sam about the woman in the park, but she’s not sure how much she can get through without spiraling into herself again.  _ How did you not even get her name? _ Even though her weekend thoughts have revolved almost exclusively between the blond and Lola’s strict schedule, they’ve been surface thoughts. She’s not allowed herself to go much deeper than the brilliant blue of the woman’s eyes and her effusive smile. Too much reflection on her own failures usually sends her into gasping panic.

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” The thought that Sam might push or be disappointed makes her breath catch, and she takes a swallow of wine to disguise it.

“Lena,” Sam’s voice is soft and firm; Lena clings to it like a buoy in high waves, “you know you can talk to me about anything, but that you don’t ever have to. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Until then, grab that bottle and come sit with me so you can tell me what happened to that thousand dollar vase that was over by the door on Friday.”

“Five thousand dollar vase, you mean?” Lena smirks, snagging the wine and walking over to her friend. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”


	2. The best laid schemes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,  
> In proving foresight may be vain:  
> The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men  
> Gang aft agley,  
> An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,  
> For promis’d joy!
> 
> - _To a mouse_  
>  Robert Burns

“Jess, what’s on the docket for today?”

It’s Thursday, typically a slow day at the office which Lena uses to finish paperwork and review reports. The board meeting Monday went shockingly well; Lena attributed it to early breakfast with Sam and Ruby, and not the new eight o’clock yoga class she already regrets requesting.

“You’ve an eleven o’clock interview with The Daily Planet about the merger with Spheerical Industries and the corporate reimaging. It’s the same reporter who blew open the story about SI and the FDA, and-” Lena looks up to where Jess stands on the threshold of Lena’s office, hesitant and uncomfortable, a sheaf of papers in her hand. “your brother. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to read the SI article?” 

Lena’s proud of herself for not flinching at Lex’s mention. As for the article, she’s already read it. 

She remembers her initial fury at what has seemed to be a smear campaign against someone who had been one of her closest friends. Jack was the first person who appreciated Lena’s genius without wanting to capture it for himself. They worked together in their makeshift garage lab for a year before Jack took his research and a sizable investment from his father and started his own company. He’d wanted Lena to come with him. “ _They don’t know what they have here with you, Lee. You’re going to change the world. Do it from Spheerical Industries and stick it to your mother.”_

She almost did. And maybe if she had, he wouldn’t have settled with whatever Luthor would follow.

She’d gone to see Jack when the article broke, the newsprint crumpled in her hand, ready to unleash Luthor hell on whatever libelous journalist had come for him. When she’d pushed her way into his office, what she found drained her anger and broke her heart. Jack, defeated, head in his hands; Lex defiant in the face of exposure, megalomania in full effect.

She swallows and clears her throat, focusing on the task at hand. “Thank you, Jess, but no need. The acquisition is on the up and up and I have nothing to hide. Just send him in when he gets here.”

Jess turns with a curt nod and Lena settles behind her desk, smothering her anxiety in financial documents and annual gala plans.

She’s five pages deep in the quarterly report, nose practically touching the monitor, when Jess’ voice crackles through the intercom and she practically jumps out of her skin. “Mr. Kent is here, Ms. Luthor, and he has a cub reporter with him.”

She smiles. This is why she hired Jess, fresh-faced and newly out of college in her bargain-basement interview suit. Her intelligence and observant nature were so evident, Lena offered her the assistant position on the spot and sent the rest of the interviewees home. Whip-smart and loyal, she’s the closest thing to a friend that Lena has here at L-Corp. Lena can hear the unspoken question in that last comment. One word about the unannounced visitor, and Jess would send them away. 

“Send them both in.”

s§s

Lena was not ready.

She expected Clark. She knows Clark. She is not charmed by his handsome face or easy smile, at least not any more. Maybe when she was a little girl and he would bow and take her hand, spinning her in a little dance while he waited for Lex to come running down the grand staircase. Maybe when she was a pre-teen and he would concede to her checkmate with praise that would choke her throat with tears. Maybe when he was the only positive point of light in the Luthor darkness, when she worshiped him like she had Lex. Maybe then. 

Not now that he took everything away from her, even himself, leaving her to deal with Lillian on her own.

No, Clark is a known element. What she didn’t expect was his blonde companion -still as statuesque and breathtaking as she was at the park- hesitantly peering out from behind his broad shoulder. Lena almost gasps; it is only from years of Lillian’s smoldering anger and constant disparagement that she keeps her face impassive, giving no hint of the turmoil inside. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Lena.” Clark holds out his hand, but she only raises an eyebrow until he drops it back to his side. 

“Miss Luthor please, Mr. Kent.” Her voice is cool and steady, and Clark nods slightly, resigned. When she flicks her eyes from his to the sky-blue of his companion’s, there is no recognition in them. Relief wars with regret before slamming it to the ground and curbstomping it. CEO-Lena doesn’t want Park-Lena to be remembered; her weakness and vulnerability still fill her with shame. But there is one small part of Lena, the part that she has tried so desperately to satisfy with accolades and achievements, _that_ part is devastated to know she is so unremarkable. _God you are a disaster, refocus._

“And who are you, exactly?”

She thinks she’s pulled off polite disinterest, at least she hopes she has. Clark’s clenched jaw indicates he remembers her well enough to see through her blasé countenance, but she’s managed to catch the blond off-guard. 

“Uh...um I’m Kara Danvers, I’m not with the Daily Planet. I’m with CatCo magazine. Sort of.” She stammers out, raising her notebook and wiggling it a bit.

Lena can feel her face soften at the bizarre role reversal that only she realizes. Lena, calm and confident in her own domain, the other woman meek and uncertain in the sterile confines of her office. She turns before Clark can verify that she, indeed, does have feelings, and pours herself a glass of water to keep her hands busy.

“That’s a publication not known for its hard-hitting journalism. More like high-waisted jeans, yes or no...” She slips behind her desk, as Kara stutters through another explanation. 

“Um I just, uh, I’m tagging along today.”

God, if it were only Kara here, Lena could drop this ice queen routine. She could smile, offer her a seat on the couch and an exclusive to take back to CatCo. CEO-Lena, confident and collected, whose second, significantly more impressive first-impression could win her a friend. But no, here’s Clark and his disdain, dredging up all her baggage and making a Luthor out of her in front of the woman whose approval she’s trying to win.

“Right,” She sits down as if on a throne, steeling herself for whatever grilling Clark has prepared, “Can we just speed this interview along? Just ask me what you want to ask me, Mr. Kent.”

“Le- Miss Luthor-” Clark catches himself with a frown and she feels the corner of her mouth tip up. “I was hoping to talk to you about the acquisition of Spheerical Industries by LuthorCorp-”

“It’s L-Corp now and has been for the last year, as I know you’re already aware.” She doesn’t bother to hide the reproach in her response. He’d covered the name change in an article eight months ago and she suddenly feels anger bloom in the center of her chest. How dare he treat her like this when she’s done nothing to earn his suspicion. Nothing but exist as Lex’s sister and Lillian’s daughter, and neither of those by choice. She moves back out from behind her desk to lean against it, crossing her legs at the ankle and her arms across her chest. “Let’s just stop beating around the bush, Clark. I don’t trust you to be fair to me or L-Corp in this interview and you obviously don’t trust me or my intentions to turn around my family’s legacy. So you just go back to Metropolis and write the scathing editorial that you’ve intended all along, and I’ll go back to reviewing reports and we’ll just stop wasting one another’s time.”

“Lena-” 

“Don’t.” She raises one hand, halting whatever protest he was mounting, “I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her _family,”_ she holds Clark in place with a look, and when he drops her gaze, chagrinned, she turns to Kara, softening again, pleading with her eyes. “Can you understand that?”

Kara straightens immediately, becoming so much more like her larger-than-life park presence. She nods, brilliant blue earnest in her agreement, the corner of her mouth drawn up in a slight smile, “Yeah.”

Lena has multiple degrees, sits on the board of the MENSA Foundation, and holds a Grandmaster chess title, but that little hint of a smile, that brief moment of connection is now, without a doubt, her highest achievement. The elation of it pushes her to extend herself a little more to see if Kara will match her efforts.

“I know why Mr. Kent is here, but what about you, Miss Danvers’?” She leans back against her desk again, but opens her posture and sloughs her boardroom glare. She wants Kara to be comfortable with her as much as she wants Clark to want to leave. “Were you looking to get your own story, or would I have seen your name appear with Mr. Kent’s on the byline?”

Kara’s cheeks pink adorably and she ducks her head, looking up at Lena over her glasses. “Um uh...I’m not a reporter.”

“Well, you fooled me.” Lena lets her eyes follow Kara’s blush from the apples of her cheeks down across perfect collarbones. The urge to follow the path of her eyes with fingers, to track exactly how far down the blush goes, is so strong that she needs to put distance between them to stop herself from giving in to it. She steps behind her desk and shuffles a few papers, and while never seeing Clark again shoots a bolt of pleasure through her, it’s immediately quelled by the thought doing the same with Kara. Lena cannot pass up this opportunity to get to know the blond and to let her know the Lena who’s not an embarrassing wreck. “I hope this isn’t the last time we talk?”

She flashes her dealmaker smile, the one she keeps in reserve for charity balls and fundraiser galas and Kara responds at once, cheeks still flushed, “I hope not either.”

Lena spends the rest of the afternoon in a haze, so distracted that even Jess notices, checking in with her every hour or so to make sure the quarterlies are finished by their six o'clock deadline. She spends the two hours after their submission idly paging through CatCo’s digital publication, sifting through banal quizzes and fragrance ads to find a surprisingly well written article about the convergence of fashion and power, something with which Lena is intimately familiar. She notes the author, K. Zorel Srevnad, with an eye roll and smile.

It seems CatCo doesn’t screen their freelancers, or maybe Cat Grant doesn’t want to give up her assistant. After today, Lena thinks maybe it’s the former. She types a quick email to the editor -a simple request to speak with the journalist of the article- and with another self-satisfied smile, sends it off.

  
  


s§s

  
  


It takes two weeks before Lena’s patience wears out and her plotting begins.

Two weeks of yoga and a circle of hell called GetFit pass before she can’t hold out any longer, because the longer she waits for Kara to make contact the easier it is to convince herself that the connection she thought they made was all in her head. Her email to the editor was fruitless; apparently CatCo only keeps enough information on their freelancers for a 1099, and for some reason, they just don’t give that information out to random CEOs who request it.

So she passive-aggressively emails Cat Grant a save-the-date for the L-Corp Children’s Hospital fundraiser gala because she knows Kara will see it. Then she begins her pursuit in earnest - there’s only a month and a half until the gala and Lena has a gorgeous dress and no one to commiserate with at her own event.

She starts with coffee. 

Noonan’s. A little research has established that Cat Grant sends her assistant every morning for a flat white at precisely nine fifteen. Lena eschews Jess’s offer to run for coffee by telling her she’ll stop for her own after her hated gym-time. Really, she’s planning to use Operation Make-a-Friend-Other-than-Sam as an excuse to skip her abhorred GetFuct class and instead, camp out in a shadowy corner like a creep and feign surprise when they run into each other. 

So here she sits, in casual-for-her tailored black pants and a forest green sleeveless shirt with a deep neckline. Her hair is loose and framing her face, knee boots in the place of power heels. Lighter make-up as well, just enough to cover the perpetual shadows under her eyes and do something about her corpse pallor. Just enough of everything to make her look different than she did that day in her casual breakdown at the park. It’s also a softer look than what she had two weeks ago in her office, friendlier, she hopes, but not trying too hard. Because she damn well knows she is. 

Hopefully Kara won’t notice.

She idly stirs her americano for no other reason than she needs to do something with her hands; there’s nothing in it that requires stirring. Jack used to beg her to add a little sugar; he swore it would sweeten her early morning attitude. She smiles slightly, letting the memory of the teasing spark in his eyes and easy grin lift her up instead of drag her down into a days-long brood. He would be proud of her venture to seek out someone else’s company. He never failed to point out that both he and Sam had come to Lena, not the other way around, but then again, he didn’t have Lillian in his head, reminding her that no one truly wanted _her_ , just what she could _do_ for them.

“Miss Luthor? Hi!”

She jumps, birchwood stir-stick catching on the lip of her cup and tipping it forward. Instinctively, she snatches at the cup to stop its tumble and is rewarded with a splash of scalding hot liquid along the back of her hand. She jerks her hand back, sucking a gasp through her teeth at the pain.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry! Let me help.”

Well, at least Lena doesn’t have to feign surprise. 

Kara pushes her righted coffee aside and takes her hand before she can gather herself. Again, Lena is immediately swept up in the blond’s concern; she sits, a wide-eyed and mute clone of herself, as Kara calls out to the barista for some ice and a damp towel. She wraps the cubes in the towel and gently puts the cloth against her reddened skin.

“It looks like just first-degree, but it’s the whole back of your hand; it’s gonna sting like mad for a bit. Just hold this towel on it for five minutes, ok? Then some burn cream or aloe?” Kara’s voice trails off as serious blue eyes rove over her undeniably flushed face. Her stomach plummets at the thought of being recognized as Park-Lena and she scowls at her own ineptness. Before she can register the effect her expression will have, Kara backs up as if slapped. _Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

Lena practically jumps to her feet and reaches out to lay her still-stinging hand on Kara’s arm before the blond can grab her loaded drink carrier and haul ass out of there. 

“I’m sorry,” she scrabbles for a lie, worried that she’s scared Kara off and even more worried by how much that upsets her. “I have a low pain tolerance and no control over my face?” 

It’s too close to the truth and definitely in her alter-ego’s delivery: shaky and unsure. Kara scrunches her eyebrows and her lips purse into a twist of disbelief, plus she still has that look on her face, like she’s flipping through a rolodex of memories trying to frame Lena’s ridiculous behavior.

Lena clears her throat, and grasping at her best boardroom voice, switches gears and brings in her anal-retentively rehearsed script with a touch of improvised self-deprecation. “Actually, I was surprised to see you here, so I dumped my americano everywhere, then thought my lack of grace might make you think poorly of me.”

The more confident fib brings a shy smile to Kara’s face that Lena could bask in for hours. “Why would you spilling a little coffee make me think poorly of you? You didn’t even get any on you - that’s talent! If it had been me, I’d be wearing it all day- Ms. Grant would have a field day.” 

Lena can feel her cheeks pink at Kara’s subtle praise and light-hearted self-disparagement. The blond’s shy smile stretches with mischief at her blush and she holds up a finger, pressing her lips in a thin line and scowling in what Lena can only guess is going to be something mildly scandalous. Kara somehow makes herself look smaller, sharper, and snaps out. “Kiera, if you can’t keep your coffee in your cup perhaps you should just change your wardrobe to brown. These pastels aren’t doing anything for you anyway.”

Lena’s delighted laughter escapes the fingers she’s pressed to her lips, both at the uncanny Cat Grant impression and the blatant mispronunciation of her name. “Sounds like you have your hands full, Ms. Danvers.” 

“Just Kara, please.” And there’s that thousand watt smile that makes Lena’s knees weak and stomach flutter. _She has a boyfriend, remember? Let’s scale it back about 1000%, so you don’t freak her out._

“Kara it is then.” Lena straightens her shoulders and holds out her hand, tipping her head in a little nod. “Lena. Nice to meet you.”

Kara frowns slightly in confusion, but she takes the proffered hand and firmly shakes it. “But we’ve already met?”

“Oh. No, _we_ haven’t.” There’s a little twinge at the lie, but _technically_ Park-Lena isn’t This-Lena, and she can’t just say ‘you’re right, remember that fainting mess with the disorderly dog? Voilà!’ “You met Miss. Luthor, outcast daughter and estranged sister of the infamous Metropolis Luthors, and probable causer of anything bad that happens in National City.” Lena covers any latent bitterness with a smile. “You’re the first person I’ve actually _met_ here, on my own. Most people to whom I’m introduced want something- my time, my money, or both. I’d like to make a friend, not another business connection.”

Kara’s puzzled frown cracks then into her trademark beaming smile and Lena realizes that in that moment, she would do anything - _say_ anything- to keep that smile focused on her. 

They stand for a moment, smiling like idiots, before Lena decides she’s taken enough of Kara’s time. She’s been awkward enough that any more opportunity to cock something up would prove less endearing and more annoying.

She lifts the towel up with a little wave. “I think it’s been five minutes. Thank you for the triage. You’re my hero, Kara Danvers.” She punctuates her statement with a playful wink, unable to completely stop flirting despite the little voice in her head screaming at her _to_ _calm the fuck down_.

“Yeah, I really should go, too. Cat is going to be furious about her coffee being two degrees colder than it normally is.” The comment is delivered with a rueful smile belied by the sparkle in those bright blue eyes. “Walk out with me?”

Nodding, Lena can’t stop the real, honest-to-goodness grin that scrunches her face but sets off a litany of Lillianisms echoing through her head. Taking a deep breath, she grabs what’s left of her coffee, and her purse. The moment she slips out the door -held open by a coffee-laden Kara- the echoes stop and stay blissfully silent the entire walk to her office. Kara’s excited chatter, the soft September sunshine, the low susurrus of the city around them drown out the almost constant diatribe -for the first time in years Lena thinks she’s finally done something right.

s§s

It started with coffee and a burn, but to Lena’s glee, it continued with no additional injuries, several lunches, a couple dinners, and one wonderful evening of drinks after work. The past four weeks have passed in a blur of Kara Danvers-level exuberance and energy; Lena has discovered that she’s never really lived and that there is no saturation point for Kara’s company. The more she sees her, the more she wants to. 

The blond is a whirlwind; everything she was in the park, just bigger, more. They text constantly - Kara’s emoji-laden textspeak is in direct contrast to her own fully written and correctly punctuated messages. Checking her phone was always a chore before, her lock-screen preview populated with work emails and missed calls from her mother. Now it is the first thing Lena does upon waking and the last thing before she closes her eyes; the notifications from Kara’s texts never fail to draw her lips up into a soft smile as her fingers tap out a response. She’s fallen asleep with tech magazines’ and novels’ spines cracked open on her chest, but never her phone, warm and clutched between her breasts, over her heart. It happens regularly now, the glass smudged from being pressed against her skin, delicious disorder in her pristine, regimented world.

Everything that Kara does injects a bit of chaos into her life, and Lena wonders how much she can take before she succumbs to the entropy and is completely remade into something as wild and unpredictable as her friend. Every day with Kara pulls her deeper and deeper toward something inevitable, and where Lena would normally try her damnedest to eject, instead she finds herself diving headfirst into the euphoria. Today, taking advantage of the October warm spell, Kara has reserved them a patio table at a restaurant whose name she refuses to disclose until they are standing in front of it. The bark of laughter escapes before Lena can clap her hand over her mouth and she turns to catch the full force of Kara’s shit-eating grin.

“No Pho Queue, Kara? Really? How did they even get that approved?”

“I’m guessing because most people think that’s pronounced like ‘foe.’” Kara grabs her elbow and pulls her toward the door, “I knew you’d get it though. You’re the smartest person I know.”

Lena glows.

A month showered in Kara's friendship has provided for a steady stream of encouragement and compliments, yet Lena still blushes all the way to her toes every time Kara says anything nice about her. In fact, her cheeks burn right now, making the cool autumn air even colder by contrast. Kara turns back and throws a wink at her, tightening her grip on Lena’s elbow. Lena’s pretty sure Kara knows what effect she has, those blue blue eyes aren’t completely guileless.

The restaurant is a dive; its dodgy interior and rickety tables scream health code violation, but the smells coming from the back kitchen are divine. They place their order at the true-to-name lineless counter and move to a corner table away from the incoming lunch throng. Wrinkling her nose at its slight stickiness, Lena lifts her eyes to see Kara watching her, mouth in a lopsided smirk.

“Wha’srong princess? Too plebeian?”

Lena dons her best boardroom glare, jutting her chin and lifting an eyebrow. “If I get sick, I’ll be taking you to court for attempted murder. I hope you have a good lawyer.”

Kara’s eyes flick over every part of her face and Lena bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. Even after just this brief amount of time, Kara can almost read her like a book. She narrows her eyes and draws herself up so that Lena has to tip her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. Then she puts her hands on her hips in a classic power pose. “Is that a threat, Miss. Luthor?” Lena barely suppresses a shiver at her flexed biceps and smoky voice -god she wants to melt against her- but Kara isn’t hers enough, so she resigns herself to just playing along.

Lena steps in closer and Kara’s eyes widen. While she’s definitely at a disadvantage in height without her heels, she has the element of surprise on her side. Kara definitely expected her to posture from afar. If she didn’t know about Alex, she’d have leaned in and whispered against Kara’s ear, but she definitely doesn’t want to cross any lines so she dials it back to ambiguously friendly flirtation. She leans in slightly and feels Kara drop her arms down to her sides. Then, she rounds her eyes innocently and in a syrupy-sweet voice she condescends, “Oh darling, Luthors don’t make threats. That was a promise.”

There is a heavy pause before Lena’ shoulders start to shake from trying to hold in the laugh before it snuffles out through her nose. She sees Kara visibly relax and whistle out a deep breath.

“Oh my god, Lena, you had me going there for a second. That face is terrifying.”

Lena grins devilishly and pokes her finger into Kara’s shoulder who has the good humor to rock back from the force. “You deserved it. The last person who called me princess got more than that face.”

“Oh?” Kara bumps her shoulder back into Lena’s finger, then forward again, thumping bodily into Lena who then giggles - _fucking giggles-_ before she can stop herself. Kara tips her head lower, and stealing a move from Lena’s Get-the-Girl playbook, whispers. “What did they get, so I can see if I want to call you princess again?”

This time, Lena cannot stop the full body shiver at the brush of Kara’s lips against her ear. Her eyes go wide, and she jerks her head back only to be greeted by a knowing smirk. _Played at your own game._ Defuse, defuse, defuse, before she combusts, Lena narrows her eyes and throws her head in a gesture to the clerk calling their names, “my lunch.” 

In spite of her inner turmoil, she can’t hold the serious face when Kara busts out in laughter and leaves her there at the sticky table to pick up their food from the counter. It’s impossible to be serious if Kara is laughing, even if Lena is still frantically trying to process what just happened. If she could trust her social intelligence, she would have said that Kara was definitely coming on to her, so obviously she can’t, because Kara is with Alex and even though Kara has made no mention of Alex to her directly, Lena has overheard enough conversations to assume -so she does.

The rest of lunch is as wonderful as spending time with Kara always is. The blond spends most of the time reassuring Lena that she eats here all the time while Lena happily slurps noodles and veggies, completely unconcerned. She’s eaten pho at the street markets in Vietnam; this restaurant is a shining example of Health Department compliance compared to that. What Kara doesn’t know won’t hurt her though, and her heartfelt defense of this place just endears her more. Plus, Kara happily rattling through all her reasons that she loves this place -besides the playfully obscene name- gives Lena time to obsess over their earlier interaction and whether it would be appropriate to even ask Kara to the gala.

“Hey! Earth to Lena, come in Lena!” Kara leans forward in her seat and waves her hand in front of her face. “Where are you?”

It’s because of moments like this that she loves being with Kara. Kara keeps her present, keeps her from drifting too far into her own head where every action is picked apart and analyzed for ulterior motives and other Luthor-like behavior. Kara completely ignores her soup to make sure that Lena is with her, here, because she’s learned that Lena spends too much time in her own head. Lena is pretty sure she’s doing something stupid, like falling in love with Kara - _Alex’s_ Kara-, and she sure-as-fuck _cannot_ think about that without collapsing into herself, so she embraces the avoidant aspect of her personality and smiles.

“I’m thinking about the yoga class I have tomorrow and that I hate it with the same passion that you have in the glares you give my kale smoothies.”

“Oh, I love yoga though! It’s infinitely better than kale...I could come with you?”

And just like that, Lena is caught.

Yes, yes she wants Kara to come with her, only because Kara makes everything better and yoga might actually be enjoyable for once because she could distract herself from the pain of working out by surreptitiously ogling Kara’s flexing muscles. But it’s Park-Lena who goes to yoga, make-up free and slouchy-clothed, out of breath and panting, not CEO-Lena, who is always calm, cool, and collected. CEO-Lena would be amazing at yoga, in shape and flowing from one pose to the next. Lena doesn’t want to think about what _that_ actually means, so she just stupidly agrees -Kara’s happy smile and excited bouncing enough of a distraction for the rest of the afternoon.

It’s not until she’s laying in bed and texting Kara the gym address that she realizes she needs to set her alarm an extra hour early to keep up the charade. With a groan, she rolls over, a good part of her hoping that maybe the building will collapse or even better, the gym will, so that tomorrow never comes. She fantasizes about the conversation, _“Oh Kara, we can’t go to yoga today, there was an accident at the gym. No, no, we don’t need to go to yours, I can skip for today. I know, no- really. How about donuts? Let’s get donuts instead.”_ She sighs and covers her head with her pillow in the hope she can smother herself or at least drown out Lillian’s voice reminding her that she made her bed, now she must lay in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I''ve still only seen 7 episodes of SG.  
> I've seen a shit-ton of gifsets tho...and thank fuck YouTube exists, amirite?


	3. You know what they say about assuming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a full serving of neurotic mess Lena with a side of cuddles and smartassery.

“Lena! Hi, good morning!”

Kara’s excited voice rings out as she’s leaning forward across the back seat to grab her bag from the car, and she jumps, thunking her head into the doorframe. 

“Ow, shit.” Her hand immediately flies to press against the rising bump on her head and she turns to see Kara’s happy smile shrink and her eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Comere, let me see. Are you bleeding?”

Lena is  _ absolutely _ ready to milk this for all it’s worth. She’s scoped out two small cafés on her way here, prepared to claim wretched cramps and hint about how nice it would be to just sit and have a cup of coffee and a pastry before work; this bump to the head is a happy accident that requires no lying. She’s stepping toward Kara and arranging a conservative pout on her face when she stops dead.

Kara is not alone.

Standing next to her, short red hair falling across an eye and lips pinched in a skeptical moue, is another woman in activewear holding a water bottle. Her dark brown eyes slowly appraise Lena from head to toe, as if she’s sizing up competition, then she smiles. Lena is immediately reminded of a shark.

“Oh! I’ve forgotten you’ve not met! Alex, Lena. Lena, Alex.” Kara casually moves her hand back and forth between them. “Alex likes yoga a lot too; we’ve been doing it for almost as long as we’ve known each other. I didn’t think you’d mind if I brought her along?” She turns more fully to face Lena. “Tip your head down, you might have cut yourself.”

Lena cannot explain the things she is feeling right now because she is feeling  _ so much _ . Relief that she got up early and did a natural face and curled the hair in her high pony- that her brand new, matchy matchy Alala clothes were clean. Elation that Alex is a  _ woman _ so Lena could have been an option. She’s never had good gaydar, so the smirking, concrete evidence standing right here shoots a bolt of pleasure through her, only then to immediately feel as if she’s been doused with a bucket of ice water because  _ this _ is  _ Alex _ . Kara’s Alex. The Alex who calls frequently enough that Lena has been privy to several conversations that usually end with Kara needing to leave. The Alex that Kara speaks about with the same reverence saved for dogs and deep-fried dough. The Alex that Lena conveniently forgets about whenever her and Kara are alone together.

“No Kara, forget about it. I’m fine, and of course she’s welcome.” She schools her face into the Lena Luthor special: a cordial smile that stops before her cheeks dimple and goes nowhere near her eyes. She shifts her bag and water bottle to her left hand and holds out her right. “Lena Luthor. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Alex. Kara talks about you all the time.”

“Does she now? Only good things, I hope.” The smirk deepens as Alex slowly reaches forward and takes her hand.

Lena braces herself for a crushing grip, adding intimidation to the way the other woman’s eyes study her face, but she is surprised when Alex simply gives her hand a firm shake and turns to Kara, who is watching the entire exchange with a bemused frown. “Well, are we going to go do this, or are you going to be late for work again?”

Kara flushes and mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a whined ‘not in front of Lena’, as she fiddles with her glasses and shifts her weight back and forth. They all stand awkwardly on the corner for a moment, Alex looking at Lena, Lena looking at Kara, and Kara looking at the ground before Lena’s had enough. “Let’s go in, class starts in ten minutes and I’ve got to register you both as guests.”

She pushes between them across the sidewalk and through the enormous glass doors into the lobby of her own personal hell, not bothering to see if they follow. 

“Ready to get your work-out on in class today, Ms. Luthor?” The ripped young man running reception this morning flashes his white teeth in a cheery grin as he scans her fob.

She wants to growl and roll her eyes because  _ no one _ should be  _ that _ happy  _ this _ early or use that many prepositions in a row. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she’s got to be perfect in yoga today, not only because Kara is here, but Kara brought her girlfriend who is obviously as badass as Kara is at physical things. She peeks at the name embroidered on the shirt stretched across his impossibly broad chest.

“Bobby, it’s Lena. Ms. Luthor is my mother and if she ever shows up here you need to run, ok? And don’t look back. Also no, it’s too early to be doing anything other than enjoying the firmness of my mattress.” She throws a casual thumb over her shoulder where she hopes Kara and Alex are standing behind her. “Can you please put these two down for guest passes on my account?”

He nods and grabs the pen tucked behind his ear, clicking it three times before pressing it against the form on the clipboard in his hand.

“Your names, ladies?”

“Kara and Alex Danvers. K-A-R-”

The sound of her silicone-wrapped environmentally-conscious glass water bottle shattering against the polished concrete floor echoes off the windows and reverberates around her skull, focusing her attention like some prayer bowl of the damned.  _ Married?! Oh my god, oh my god.  _ She’s pinching the soft skin on the inside of her elbow hard enough to bruise as she watches the water run and puddle along the dips and imperfections of the floor, chips of glass sparkling in the fluorescent lighting. 

Bobby radios for maintenance to come, Kara squats down, carefully collecting the largest pieces of glass that have escaped the patterned holes in the case, but Lena just stands, digging her short nails into her arm and trying to breathe. If she doesn’t get herself under control she’s going to do a dramatic reenactment of the Dog Park Travesty here in front of Bobby, whoever this maintenance person is, Kara, and  _ her wife _ . Why she cares now, she doesn’t know; it’s not as if holding up the image of perfection matters anymore. Kara is married. Whatever delusions Lena was developing about her relationship with Kara before  _ this _ are all out the window, and obviously she had some serious delusions if she’s reacting like this. 

The maintenance guy and Bobby keep trying to get Kara to move aside, probably terrified about her getting cut and suing, but she just keeps shrugging them off. “Lena, did you get cut? You’re bleeding.” Kara’s looking up at her, chunks of glass in her hands and concern all over her face. Lena looks down where her nails have cut two crescent moons into her arm and the thin line of red trailing to her elbow.

“A piece of glass must have flown up,” she chokes out, breath starting to come in short pants. She’s got to get out of here before she creates even more of a scene than she has already, except this time with tears and shattered hopes. “I’ll be just a minute,” and she steps over the mess, past Kara’s frowning face, and into the lobby restroom.

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?!” Palms flat against the counter and elbows locked, she wants to scream at her reflection, her reddened eyes and gasping breaths just highlight how far she has spiraled away from CEO-Lena.  _ What’s wrong with you, Lena, is that you keep making the same mistake: thinking you mean more to people than you do. Isn’t that the definition of insanity, dear, doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome?  _ Lillian’s voice rings out loud and clear, stifled for so long by Kara’s presence. 

“God, it is not a mistake to make friends, mother.” She mutters to herself as she yanks two paper towels from the dispenser, pressing one immediately against the cuts and then tries to focus her breathing by carefully folding the other into a perfect square which she uses to blot at the tears on her face. Thank fuck she decided on waterproof mascara, or she’d have raccoon eyes to add insult to injury. 

The swoosh of the door opening cuts through the mostly internal argument she’s having with Lillian and she steels herself for Kara’s boundless compassion to turn her into a blubbering puddle of self-pity. She starts to apologize, but the words stick in her throat at the flash of red hair and serious brown eyes. She turns from the sink and leans back against it, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield. While compassion right now would break her, a lifetime of fielding disdain and condescension has prepared her for this moment. An angry confrontation is CEO-Lena’s game of choice.

“I have this strange feeling that somehow we got off on the wrong foot?” Alex is cautious in her delivery, brows drawn together, her eyes taking in Lena’s reddened eyes and stiff, closed-off posture. “Kara sent me in to make sure you’re ok. Of course, she nicked herself on that glass, so they’re making her fill out an accident report.” Brown eyes roll to the heavens and she gives an exaggerated sigh. 

Something about the obvious fondness in both actions softens Alex’s face, and despite the twist in her heart, Lena gives her a hesitant smile. “It’s possible that I overreacted, and I apologize,” it’s not as if she needs to impress anyone anymore so she might as well give Alex partial truth, “I don’t particularly enjoy looking foolish in front of people, and well, I’m quite awful at yoga. Anything athletic actually. And class with Kara would have been bad enough but she’s so  _ nice _ that I knew she wouldn’t tease. It’s just — “ Her CEO persona crumbles, and she stops and sucks in a deep breath that catches once or twice before blowing it out, “I don’t really know you, and I’m always awkward around new people, and I should have guessed that Kara would want to bring her wife wit—”

Alex cuts her off with a barking laugh. “Her wife?! Oh fuuuuuuck no.” Her initial guffaw amps up to full belly laughter that has her doubled over, one arm clutched over her stomach, the other hand on her knee for support. She manages to choke out an explanation after a series of deep breaths that are broken up by residual snorts. 

“Kara is my sister. And while I love her dearly, I could barely live with her for the first months we moved here, much less be married to someone like her.” Alex straightens up and begins to count out on her fingers. “Wide awake with sunny smiles at the asscrack of dawn? - Nope. ‘ _ Why should we take an Uber when it’s so nice outside, Alex? It’s only seven hundred blocks _ !’ - Nope. Ham on pizza without pineapple? - Hell nope. I pity the poor person who ends up with her, honestly.”

Lena knows she’s doing that thing again. The thing where she stands and stares and blinks, mouth probably opening and closing while her stupid brain tries to process what is happening around her. Alex is not Kara’s wife.  _ Alex. Is. Not. Kara’s. Wife _ ! 

“So, um. Anyway, Kara sent me in here to see if you’re ok, but you’re still looking a little rough around the edges, no offense, so why don’t I tell her you’re not feeling up to Daybreak Dhyana or Sunrise Samskara or whatever dumbass alliterative name it has and instead we can go to that little coffee shop that’s two blocks south of here?”

All of the air rushes out of her lungs and she feels her posture sag in relief. “Oh god, yes please. Thank you.” Then she offers Alex a real smile, almost as good as the ones she saves for Kara when the blond does something particularly endearing. To her delight, Alex gives one right back. It’s so much softer than that initial baring of teeth that Lena feels the last bits of tension bleed from her shoulders and jaw. Alex sticks her hand out, smile still gracing her lips, but her eyebrow raised in playful challenge.

“Hi, I’m Alex Danvers, Kara’s sister and certified yogi. I would have crushed you at yoga.”

Lena chuckles and clasps her hand firmly, like before, but this time she meets and holds Alex’s gaze with the same smirking good humor bestowed on her. “Hello Alex Danvers, Lena Luthor. Kara’s friend and yoga flunky. It’s good that we’re skipping today then, I don’t like losing, even at something that’s not actually a competition. I do own a multi-million dollar corporation though, if that counts for anything.” She cocks an eyebrow and flashes her boardroom smirk.

Alex laughs again as she moves towards the door, “Mad flex, Luthor, but it’s yoga or nothing. Looks like I win.” She pulls the door open with a bow and flourish indicating Lena should go through. “Let Kara buy breakfast this morning Miss Fortune 500. She just got a big promotion at work and wants to flex a bit too. She’s gonna act all put out that we’re not gonna yoga today, but that’s because she wanted to impress you with her prowess. If you let her buy you breakfast it’ll soothe her ego.” 

Alex winks conspiratorially as Lena passes, then falls in behind her with a hand to her upper back and Lena can’t help but feel a little warm. Kara wants to impress her, and she thinks she’s passed some test and maybe managed to make another friend, or at least an acquaintance. She uses Alex’s wink and soft touch to her shoulder as allied weapons to threaten Lillian back into the quiet recesses of her brain.

s§s

“Hi Kara! In two weeks L-Corp is hosting a gala fundraiser for the children’s hospital and I thought maybe you would like to go?” She clears her throat and frowns in the mirror, flustered by her nerves. Lena Luthor never has trouble asking for what she wants except when what she wants has to do with one Kara Danvers. Ever since learning Alex’s true identity, Lena’s anxiety about her relationship with Kara skyrocketed. It was easy when she thought Kara was taken; Lena was content with whatever Kara could give her and she could easily stuff her growing ardor in a little box and shove it into the dark place she tries to keep Lillian. Now, she moons like a lovesick adolescent. She sighs and squares her shoulders. “Kara! I was hoping you would be free two weeks from now when— ugh, enough.” She’ll just have to wing it.

CatCo’s offices are a beehive of activity; flashing colors, bright white lights, and a constant low buzz of sound broken up by ringing phones and occasional shouts across the bullpen. Lena slips in unnoticed, heels clicking past reporters, photogs, and assistants without so much as a head turn. Hands in the pockets of her olive trench coat -the one she knows makes her eyes pop- she ducks past Cat Grant’s office and heads over to where she sees curling golden hair and gesticulating arms blocking a chair from her field of vision. Whomever Kara is talking to, she’s completely absorbed in the storytelling. 

“...and I still haven’t been able to find her. I’ve gone back  _ numerous  _ times, like different days of the week, different times of the day, nothing. I swear Alex, it’s like I dreamed —”

“But you said it wasn’t even her —”

“Kara?”

Kara whirls around, “Lena!” Oh god that smile, everything Lena rehearsed is burned away by its sunshine-brightness. “Surprise visit to Catco?”

Alex twists back and forth in the chair behind Kara and raises her hand in a little wave. Lena nods and smiles, but her eyes jump back to Kara as the butterflies in her stomach accelerate their flapping. She crosses her arms, low over her stomach, to stop herself from fidgeting with her rings. She squeezes subtly -a habit borne from enduring Lillian’s lectures, the compression soothing in its familiarity. “No, um, I’m here to see you, actually.”

“You are?”

And Lena cannot help herself; Kara’s smile is the sun and its inherent gravity pulls her in until she stands so closely that she is sure Kara will step back in discomfort. She drops her eyes and catches her lip between her teeth, unable to watch the moment in real time. When Kara’s feet stay firmly in place and the pause stretches longer than it should, Lena looks up into quizzical blue that jolts her back into action. Relief loosens her tongue. “L-Corp is hosting a party in two weeks. It’s a gala fundraiser for the children’s hospital. I was hoping you would come?”

Alex lifts her booted foot from the floor and taps the back of Kara’s knee, letting out a hoot of laughter when Kara pitches forward. “This sounds like a great opportunity for you to get some new clothes, you bum. Plus you love a party. Will there be dancing?”

Alex looks up, smirking, and raises an expectant eyebrow at Lena.

“Um yes, I believe there will be?” Lena looks back to Kara, “You and Sam are literally my only two friends in National City, most people wouldn’t touch a Luthor with a ten foot pole.” She bites her lip at the surprise twist of pain that the admittance gifts her, that no matter what she tries to do, the world is full of Clarks who look at her only through one lens. “It would mean a lot to me if you were there.”

“Heeeeeey, what am I, chopped liver?” Alex throws up both hands and mutters as she spins the chair to face away from them, “Save a girl from a crushing yoga defeat and you don’t even get friend status.”

Lena draws her eyebrows together in confusion, eyes bouncing from the back of Alex’s chair to Kara’s amused head-shaking. The blond just rolls her eyes. “Of course I’ll come, Lena, I’m honored. And don’t mind her. Alex doesn’t even like parties.” 

The chair spins back around, the redhead aghast. “Lies! Liar! You just tell people that so they don’t invite me and see that I’m a better dancer than you.” Alex pushes against Kara’s hip, and Kara rocks forward again, flashing Lena an apologetic  _ she’s-always-like-this _ look. 

Lena scrambles, unused to anyone acting put-out from not receiving an invitation from her, “Alex, of course you’re my friend, find yourself something nice to wear and I’ll see you there.” 

Kara huffs out a sigh, “Lena, you don’t have to invite her because she said that because it was incredibly-” she turns and speaks straight at Alex, “ _ rude _ of her to fish for an invitation. Eliza would be horrified and I’m so going to tell her tonight.” 

“Snitches get stitches.” Alex growls out and draws her thumb across her throat, then pretends to lunge at Kara who just rolls her eyes. Lena feels like she should do something to smooth the waters between the sisters, their bickering makes her unhappy in a way she can’t identify.

“Oh no, Alex is welcome to come. It’ll make Sam happy that I have-” She stops herself before she admits aloud again to only having three friends, “other people to ride in the towncar with her. You’ll keep her company, right?” 

Kara nods, wide-eyed, then shakes her head and gives Lena one of her megawatt smiles and she jumps up and down a little in a way that makes Lena want to melt in a puddle of hopelessly smitten ooze. “Wow, like a limo? That would be amazing! I’d love to do that.”

“Excellent. I’ll text you final details in a day or two, as soon as everything is worked out. I’m so happy you can come!” And she is. Irrationally happy. She can’t-keep-the-stupid-smile-off-her-face happy. She rocks up on her toes and back in a move that’s more suited to a joyful Kara than staid Lena, before turning around with a little wave and walking out the door to her waiting car. She settles in the backseat and pushes her palms against her cheeks, achy from smiling; for the first time since she can remember, she’s looking forward to a Luthor event.

s§s

Kara’s apartment is cozy and welcoming in a way that spoke to Lena the first time she visited. She is immediately at ease here in the warm colors, soft fabrics, and faerie lights, so much so that her wandering mind forgets it’s supposed to be focused on the television.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Lena sits primly in the corner of Kara’s couch, work clothes still impeccable, while Kara, clad in sweats and a ratty tshirt, sprawls across the rest of it, cramming popcorn in her mouth from the half-filled bowl resting on her stomach. Her eyes pull from the screen to Lena’s as she chews, smug written all over her face. After all, they are watching a documentary that  _ Lena _ requested. Kara had rolled her eyes and claimed they’d both be asleep before it’s over.

“Are you asking me this to keep yourself awake?”

“Of course not!” Lena’s half-hearted indignance earns her a sideways smile and cocked eyebrow and she bites her lip, unsure now, if the question is just weird. “I just thought this is something friends know about each other…?”

Lena’s read somewhere online that there are certain bits of information that people should know about their friends. Small details that she would never have thought to ask because she’s never actively cultivated a friendship with anyone else before. Sam and Jack just took her under their wings, let her cry on their shoulders and cracked open champagne at her successes. She doesn’t know Sam’s go-to comfort food or what Jack’s middle name is. She only knows that she wants to learn these things about Kara because she wants to be the best friend she can be. Lena never does anything in halves, and she has an office wall of awards to prove it. 

“Oh, so we’re playing 20 questions then? Fun!” After putting the now-empty popcorn bowl on the low table in front of the couch, Kara tucks her legs up underneath her and turns so she’s facing Lena, sunshiney smile firmly attached. “Yellow, probably. Like daffodils, ‘n bananas, and cheese!”

Lena laughs, “No, the cheese that  _ you _ eat is orange. If you can really even call it cheese. I bet it’s spelled with a ‘z’.”

Kara sticks out her tongue, “Maybe. Maybe orange is my favorite color because of melty grilled cheese-with-a-z sandwiches and Creamsicles. Maybe green is my favorite color because yo-” Kara’s eyes go wide and she stutters to a stop, then seemingly recovers, “you know, like mint chocolate chip ice cream or pistachio pudding.” Lena makes a face but Kara just laughs a little nervously. “What’s yours then?”

“Green, probably.” Lena says, thinking back to the verdant hills and dark forests of her very early childhood. “I was born in Ireland and lived there until my mother died. Everything was so green where we had lived, like eternal springtime. Then Lionel came and brought me here, to concrete and steel, to Lex and Lillian.” To her horror, the words just slip from her mouth, slick and bitter. “You can imagine my welcome, bastard child of a torrid affair; Lillian was  _ delighted _ . She’s never let me forget it.”

Lena stops when she realizes what she’s just said and how she’s said it. Her eyes fly to Kara’s when she realizes that she’s spilled out some of her ugly truth. What must Kara think of her now? “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I said that.”

Kara’s brow furrows and her hands open and close like she’s trying to stop herself from reaching out. “No, don’t be sorry!” Lena's chest tightens and she crosses her arms up to keep from fiddling with her hands, pulling herself tighter into the corner of the couch.

Kara’s frown deepens. She reaches forward this time and hooks her finger into Lena’s clenched ones, tugging so their fingers are entwined on the couch between them. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that.” Kara shifts forward, tightening her hold on Lena’s fingers, her captivating blue eyes so earnest. Lena wants to drown in them.

“Hey, maybe this is a sign that we were meant to be friends! I lost my parents too, when I was 13. Alex and I fought something awful at the beginning, when the Danvers took me in, but we grew out of that and we’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since.”

“Lex and I used to be close, but not anymore, not since-”

Now Kara’s face is full of understanding. She nods briskly, indicating that she knows exactly why they aren’t close any longer, that Lena doesn’t have to say anymore. Lena closes her eyes and swallows against the lump in her throat, Kara’s thumb softly rubbing against her own, once, twice before it stops. 

“Lena, can I give you a hug?” 

Kara’s request, low and hesitant, sets the butterflies -who’ve returned with a vengeance when she found out about Alex- aflutter. When she looks up, Kara’s face is as sweetly serious as she’s ever seen it. Lena nods her assent and lets Kara pull her into her arms, her relieved sigh a vent of the tempest in her middle. 

It goes on longer than a hug should, but Lena will take anything that Kara sees fit to give, and Kara seems content to just hold her. The documentary drones on in the background as Lena hyper focuses on all the sensations against her person: Kara’s slow calm breaths rustling the loose hair by her ear, the baby-soft of Kara’s fleece pullover against her cheek, the warm pressure of arms around her body and splayed hands against her back. She closes her eyes and lets herself melt when Kara shifts the hug into something more like a cuddle, Lena tucked against her side under an outstretched arm.

“So that was one question, you get 19 more. What’s next?” Kara’s lips move against the crown of her head and she shivers, breath catching in her throat. Kara just chuckles and pulls the throw blanket down from the back of the couch, draping it over the two of them. Lena is definitely not cold.

She hums softly, a bit lost in her thoughts and afraid to upset this new dynamic. Adrift on the deluge of endorphins released from the hug and continued contact, she’s struggling to remember any of the questions on the list. Kara traces shapeless patterns on her shoulder with gentle fingertips, and so lulled is she, that when Kara speaks again, she jumps.

“What’s your favorite food?” Kara pulls her in again after startling and resumes the tracing, “And don’t say salad or a vegetable, because those things are no one’s  _ favorite _ food.”

“But what if it  _ is _ a vegetable?” She can hear the grumble collecting in Kara’s chest, so she drums up some courage and pokes a playful finger into her side. “Potatoes. Especially potatoes in the Big Belly fry format, but I also like them mashed, or baked, or au gratin- let me be a stereotype, you favorites gatekeeper.” 

Kara laughs and Lena thrills at both the sound and her achievement.  _ She’s _ the one that made Kara laugh like that, loose and open. While Kara launches into her own soliloquy about potatoes, Lena just closes her eyes and listens, making note of the cadence and tone and chalking up waffle fries on her mental Kara’s-favorite-foods list right next to pineapple-free pizza, pink-frosted pastries, and potstickers. 

Now potatoes. 

She must drift off while contemplating the pleasing staccato of Kara’s comforts, warm and happy, snuggled against Kara’s side because she drags open her eyes to see she’s being watched. Kara’s slow smile is so full of genuine affection it takes her breath away. Then she looks at the time.

“Oh, shit shit shit!” She sits up with a jolt, jostling Kara’s arm from her shoulder, and grabs her phone next to the popcorn bowl on the table. Jumping up from the couch, she messages her driver, mentally making a note to add an inconvenience clause into his contract. Up until now, Lena’s rigid scheduling and planned-to-the-minute evenings have provided him with a reliable schedule; she’s surprised he hasn’t called her, worried that he’s heard neither hide nor hair. “It’s so late. So, so late. I’ve got a 7:30 meeting tomorrow that I’m not completely prepared for.”

This is the chaos that Kara brings to her world, and Lena -out late with only half of the reports read for her merger meeting tomorrow- finds that she regrets none of it. Being with Kara frees her from the constraints of her job, of her mother, of her own making, and unbound, Lena blossoms. What used to put her into a tailspin of panic is now just a mild annoyance, anxiety muted by contentment the likes of which Lena has never experienced before. Even Lillian’s criticisms cannot break through completely. 

She can feel Kara’s eyes on her as she moves around the apartment putting her wine glass next to the sink and collecting her heels and jacket. As she braces a hand against the door to slip on her shoes, she looks over to catch Kara’s lips pursed in a soft, fond smile. “I can’t imagine you unprepared for anything. You’re the most put-together person I’ve ever met. Do you even own regular-people clothes?”

She flushes, warmed to her toes and sure that Kara has no idea that the gentle praises and ardent gaze just make Lena fall further, right-the-fuck past friendship and smack dab into full-blown-idiot love. In her whole life, she’s never been in this headspace before -raw and riotous with emotion, her stomach in giddy knots, skin tingling. 

“These are regular-people clothes.”

Kara just rolls her eyes and gets up from the couch to shuffle over in her sock-feet and pluck Lena’s coat from her hands to hold it open. The debate continues as Kara tugs the jacket up to her shoulders and then absently straightens the collar and lapels. She’s so close that Lena can’t breathe. Kara, however, seems completely unaffected.

“They aren’t. I’m wearing regular people clothes, you’re wearing boss-lady clothes. Really. Do you own sweats? Or a hoodie? How about tennis shoes? A tee-shirt?” Kara’s fingers are still on the lapels of her jacket and, God, Lena wants her to tighten her fingers around them and tug her forward until they’re kissing.

“I have sneakers!” Her voice comes out high and a bit choked, she feels her cheeks warm and she clears her throat and steps back to collect herself. “I was appropriately dressed for yoga last week.”

“Ok, you’ve got activewear.” Kara concedes, opening the door and leading her out with a hand to her lower back, “that’s not regular-people clothes. Next time we do this, no power suit.”

They walk down to street level in companionable silence. Kara walks her all the way out to the car, still in just socks, and wraps her in a hug before opening the car door and waving goodbye.

Lena closes her eyes on the ride home, imagining Kara’s arms wrapped around her and replaying ‘next time we do this’ over and over in her head.

**Author's Note:**

> New fandom terrorrrrrrrrr. 😬  
> I've only seen 7 episodes of SG. I'm really bad at watching things, so don't look too closely.
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Sockslost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockslost) and [shallow_seas_we_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shallow_seas_we_sail) for their constant encouragement and agreement to drop what they are doing to beta at a moment's notice.
> 
> If you like to look at pretty supercorp gifs or are as thirsty for Katie McGrath as I am...check out [sideadde](https://sideadde.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
